


Wrap Up

by softlyinthestreetlights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, designer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:51:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyinthestreetlights/pseuds/softlyinthestreetlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Abaddon is the emerging queen of the fashion world and controls a world-wide fashion empire. Cecily is her personal assistant who is only too willing to take the edge off after her boss has had to endure a long, stressful day in sky high Louboutins. Taken from haelstorm on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrap Up

**Author's Note:**

> She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Cecily's slender arms winding themselves around her waist and her lovers chin, nestled comfortably in the space between her collarbone and her neck.
> 
> No real sexual content, because this is my first time writing anything even in the ballpark of sexual (so sorry if it's not your cup of tea). I hope I did the piece proud. Lesbians are cute. Okay. Bye. And thank you for reading :)

It had to be late. By the time Abaddon got off of the phone with associates from Spain and some dreadfully dull people in China, she realized that the sun must have gone down hours ago. The freeway down below was moving steadily, the lights from passing cars flashing past before moving on. One thing she thought she’d like about moving into her own office building was getting the view she wanted, but the more time she spent looking at the freeway the more she wanted to buy it up and develop it into something else. Maybe a nice plaza.

She poured herself half a glass of some alcohol in a curvy tumbler. It was a nice light pink color, but she didn’t remember replacing it. Tasting she smiled realizing that it was a blush; Rosé. Cecily must have put it there for her, remembering their last trip to Milan when it had been all too easy to make her secretary’s cheeks flare. Not nearly as red as her favorite lipstick, the one that she liked to see spread out in clusters over her body in the morning when she stepped into the spray of her shower. That she rubbed into her skin with the soap that her maid service replaced, and that Cecily always complained smelled like lilac. ‘You’d smell so much better in something else, something sweeter.’ And damn her for drawing out sweeter, like she was fragile, like she was something that could be broken open; like she wanted to dig her teeth in.

Being with Cecily was different that what she was used too. She always thought what she wanted was rough, fighting for the submission of the body under her. Wearing down the resistance like sucking on a lollipop, and she’d perfected the art. But the way that Cecily moved while calculated, was languid. From the minute that she’d walked out of the elevator she’d known exactly what she wanted, to the point where it was distracting. She wanted to dig her nails into her new secretary’s hips, pluck the buttons on her shirt free one by one and see just how far this girl was willing to go to keep her job. Imagining what kind of underwear she would be wearing was pointless, in the fantasy it could be anything that she wanted, but it wasn’t right. Plans were usually the only things that demanded detail, and she certainly hadn’t been planning to spend lazy mornings in hotel rooms basking in afterglow with the fifth secretary she’d had to hire in three months. No, it hadn’t been a plan.

So when Cecily kissed her for the first time all of the bottled up tension had bleed out her. She’d been vulnerable enough for the dark haired young girl to push her back into her desk chair and drape herself across her lap, straddling her, not even realizing that she’d been kissing back. Not realizing that what was happening was what she’d been waiting for, all the time looking in the wrong place.

That Spring she’d taken Cecily to Fashion Week in Paris. Booked two rooms because they hadn’t gotten that far yet, which was her fault. Cecily told her one night over a bottle of expensive Merlot from another designer in New York that she’d never been with another girl before, and after that Abaddon hadn’t wanted to take things farther than Cecily might be ready to go. Playing it safe was worth the wait if it meant not letting this one slip through her fingers. But they’d never ended up using the second room, because Cecily decided that she was done being cherished. After prying Abaddon away from the after party for the new Summer line, which included a couple of Cecily inspired pieces they’d gone to walk and see if they could catch a walk along the Les Champ Elysees, one of the only things that Cecily had wanted to do. Talking about the pieces that Cecily had liked and the ones that Abaddon wanted to make for her. She wanted lace and satin, dark against her pale breasts with her hair and her skin spilling everywhere onto the bed, into their sheets, and against Abaddon’s hands. And here they are, walking down the avenue and falling in love with Cecily’s hand grasped tightly in her own and it was nice. Nicer than anything anyone has given her in quite a while. Looking back, it’s not entirely clear when she realized that it was Cecily going slow for her, and not the other way around. The defining moment there, with Cecily tugging her along bright and vibrant under the Paris lights suddenly stopped and turned around to kiss her again. But this time they’re not alone in Abdaddon’s office after everyone else on the floor has gone home for the night or saying goodbye as Abaddon heads off again to some fashion center of the miraculously free world, they’re in public with on lookers and one stray teenager in a hideous red and white stripped uniform. And it’s Cecily cupping the sides of her face and gripping at the back of her neck into her hair trying to pull them closer together, some people even clap. 

Soon the kiss started to get breathless and needy and entirely inappropriate for such an open setting. She doesn’t remember but soon they’re stumbling into the hotel lobby, stale fingers fighting with the elevator buttons, and hands shaking so hard that it takes several tries to open the door only so Cecily can take the initiative again and push her into the room. But once the door closes it’s all Abaddon after that, lifting her lover up against the wall and pulling her hair back so that Cecily has to arch up against her and give up full access to her long neck, which looks a little too much like a blank canvas, so she sets to work finding and sucking on her pulse point with force; pulling away to see a blossoming hickie. Knowing Cecily she’ll wear V-necks all week just to show it off, and if that doesn’t scream ‘own me’ then Abaddon wasn’t sure what did. Cecily is everything that she never even knew she wanted, soft and pliant everywhere that she touched, she didn’t want to fight Cecily, and didn’t need too. And after knowing that, what was really the point in going slow?


End file.
